consciously, guiltily regretful
by Lissy Stage
Summary: Connor was still on his second drink when a man strode in and sat in the stool next to him. And though the evening does take a turn for the worse, he's fine. Connor-centric. Written for Jess for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza, 2015.


**Title:** consciously, guiltily regretful

**Beta**: teddylupin-snape (all new errors created by me sorry)

**Challenge/Prompt:** Written for the GGE 2015 for Jess (aka, autumn midnights). Hopefully, you enjoy this fic. It is _indeed_ Connor-centric, but I can't be sure how well I got his character. Adding on to that is the introduction of the OMC. :3

**Rating:** T

**Word Count**: About 1200

**Characters/Pairings:** Past Connor/Oliver, implied Connor/OMC

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in relation to How to Get Away With Murder. 'Nuff said.

**Warning(s)**: Alcohol consumption, brooding reflections on past sluttiness, and depictions of present sluttiness

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><p>It was already ten o'clock - exactly, on the dot, according to both his watch and his phone - and Connor wasn't even remotely hammered enough if he was still contemplating both the time, and his lack of a fair life. Bullshit, it was.<p>

And it was bullshit of his own making, of course - he could, at the very least, be brutally honest to himself within the sanctity of his own mind. He was a shitty person. And as said shitty person, he did shitty things. To people. Especially Oliver.

Connor was still on his second drink - this one on the rocks as he flirted shamelessly with the idea of becoming drunk, if his tolerance was much lower and his drink much stiffer - when a man strode in and sat in the stool next to him, despite the numerous vacant seats all throughout the bar. And curiosity for curiosity's sake alone was just enough for Connor's eyes to glide over the stranger's lean frame in interest. The man was handsome, seemingly sauve, and admittedly athletic. And, luckily enough for the both of them, Connor was hanging just on that edge of slutty enough to virtually throw himself at Mister Suave, Athletic, and Handsome. Here was the light at the end of the tunnel: the perfect chance to forget _forget __**forget**_ all about Oliver and his big brown irises and his witty humor and his surprisingly deep laughter.

"Hey," the man murmured to Connor shortly after thanking the bartender, followed by a quick nod of his head and tilt of his glass. He seemed to settle in warmly and comfortably at the counter, ankles lazily crossed, elbow balanced on dark wood, hazel eyes skating over Connor's body as if he were a statue he was curious of the meaning. And Connor enjoyed being that piece of art - basked in it, even.

He gave a slight smirk in return, still preening at suddenly becoming the cynosure of the man's attention, and nodded his head back with a confidence he knew he gave off as steadily as he breathed. "Hi."

They eyed each other for a while, both wondering how the other would look in bed, sheets twisted about the legs, eyes closed with a pleasure so great it seemed painful - when, as luck would have it, Connor's evening seemed to crash all around him, as if the remnants of a disastrous explosion. The likes that caused mines to collapse and the proletarians who worked within to become stuck in between fallen rock, on the verge of death.

Because that's how Connor felt as he turned to glance at whomever had opened the door of the bar and met Oliver's gaze as steadily and easily across the room as he did anything else. And then said debris paused in his meanderings before shaking his head resentfully and leaving the bar, almost as if he found himself unable to be in the same room as Connor, even maybe that was just Connor's innate narcissism causing him to believe himself the cause of every single effect possible - in either case, he found himself taking a shaky breath in and exhaling out slowly.

Leaning on the counter and embracing the drunken daze that wasn't quite there seemed to help significantly more than he'd previously thought it would, even if he didn't essentially like to use alcohol as a crutch, knowing it would give way under him sooner rather than later. Reluctance aside, however, he wasn't even close to prepared to deal with what felt like the tightening of his heart's valves and pain so great it stole away even his ability to breath.

More than he craved forgetfulness, though, he craved that feeling of utmost control. He could at least admit that much.

"Are you okay?" the man was leaning over him now as he inquired quietly, smile sliding gracefully off his face with the slightest bit of concern bright in his eyes. And Connor had always been about the eyes, truly. The eyes, as the old adage went, were the gateways to the soul, and the man's read him to be kind, if not selfish. But Connor could tell all he really wanted was someone to take him home and show him a good time.

"I'm fine," Connor answered with an embittered sigh, quirking a smile in the man's direction.

After a few silent seconds, he averted his gaze and met the sight of smooth, polished wood before slyly glancing up in the corners of his eyes, to which the man blushed the slightest bit. And with that, Connor was instantly reminded of Oliver. And no, no, _no_ he was _so_ not going down that road. That path fraught with steel spikes just waiting for one to misstep on the booby trapped ground below. This was his chance to relax, dammit; to unwind after the hectic, stressful day Annalise had set upon him and the others. Their current case wasn't even remotely worth the time spent thinking about it, even - just another heiress in trouble with the law, leading to nearly a million dollars in public property damage - and it certainly wasn't worth all the fuss Annalise herself had made of it.

Connor took a moment to clear his mind before reaching across the short space between him and his perfect stranger and extending his hand. "My name is Connor, and you are...?"

Mister Mysterious took it firmly and lingeringly. "I'm Derek."

Score twenty points for the gorgeous name to match the gorgeous smile.

"Long day?"

Derek nodded shortly before taking another sip of his drink, without a single wince or cringe at the sharp flavor it undoubtedly held. Not to mention the scorching journey down his throat. And Connor wasn't staring at the man's adam's apple because he wasn't that drunk and he wasn't that hard up. "Long shift."

"You work in medicine?" Connor frowned at what he thought to be a slurring in his own speech. But then he relaxed marginally when he realized that he couldn't really identify the impediment, so focused was he on the fact that he wasn't getting drunk by nursing his drink and planned to stay that way, even in the face of sweet temptation.

"Nurse," Derek answered with a sharp bob of his head. "I've been running around the hospital all day instead of sitting my ass down like some of the assistants do. I sometimes resent that, but... then I remember that I love my job.

"And you?"

"Law student," Connor answered curtly, staring into his own drink with a moue of frustration darkening his tone and expression. "Professor had us all running around the city today instead of sitting our own collective asses down like a majority of the other students do, as well."

And as Derek chuckled and Connor blatantly flirted back, he felt the crawling sensation that he really shouldn't actually be doing what he was doing - a sensation that seemed to scream _wrong**wrongwrong**_ even when lacking a mouth. But he dismissed it for this moment was the best he'd felt in a while - since he'd cheated on Oliver during a case for information, even - and he was getting back into his former groove: sleeping with handsome men indiscriminately and enjoying it.

And he was fine.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>:

Once again, I hope you enjoyed this, especially, Jess D;; I wasn't very sure as to what you would like, though =/ I'm sorry if it disappoints you in any way.

And to everyone else: thanksumuch for reading! :D

And Gabs. Especially Gabs.


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